Where the Heart Is
by Levade
Summary: A birthday fic for Arianka. Home. It's not about being there or not. It's about knowing that when the world crashes on you, you still have a place to return to, to run away and hide and be safe. Wherever it is.
1. Chapter 1

The prompt is from Ariana and the story is for her. Happy Birthday, Ariana! May this coming year bring hope, not sadness, challenges that lift you up and make you grow, and may your days grow brighter.

Also, happy birthday to Lydwina Marie!

* * *

 _Home. It's not about being there or not. It's about knowing that when the world crashes on you, you still have a place to return to, to run away and hide and be safe. Wherever it is._

* * *

"Elrond?" The scratching at the tent door could only be Glorfindel, who always asked before entering. Círdan and Gil-galad just pushed aside the flaps and walked in as if... Elrond swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

Gil-galad. Elrond's mind flashed back to the moment he had looked down upon what was left of Erenion Gil-galad, the charred, still-smoking carcass, imprint of one bloody hand on his cheek, still horribly vivid. It had been surreal, that moment. He had seen many dead bodies, more in the past seven years that he had ever wanted to see in his entire life.

And he was no stranger to death.

"I wish I could forget."

"Elrond?"

He noted there was a concerned tone in the voice now, but he felt too heavy to stand and bid his friend enter. Instead he, scowled. "Cannot I be alone for more than a candle mark without someone needing me?" It was a petty thing to say, and yet... He felt as though a bit of pettiness was allowed at this point. Well beyond, actually.

"Elrond."

He snorted at the calm tone of voice. Damn the Vanya for being so conveniently capable and willing to stand insult on his behalf. Even when it was Elrond himself insulting him. "Go away." He lowered his head to hands he raised, and rubbed his face. It was gritty and likely spattered with blood and other gore. The entire damned land of Mordor was nothing but blood and volcanic grit that got everywhere. "Leave me!" He added, in a low, bitter mutter, "Like everyone else."

"I am not leaving."

He startled badly as the words were spoken softly right in front of him. Elrond bolted to his feet, instantly furious, hands coming up to shove the other elf back.

Glorfindel allowed one startled step back, surprise sharp on his face, then stood to face the storm raging before him.

"I am sick to death of people leaving me! Whether because they had a destiny or they thought it would be best for me if they simply could never return, I am..." Elrond realized he was nearly sobbing, shoulders heaving as he breathed in huge, gulping breaths, and he sat on the cot before his legs gave out. Hands between his knees, back bent, he shook his head for several minutes before words could be formed out of the rage and horror that had risen in his heart. "I am weary beyond any strength I ever thought I possessed, Glorfindel. And I do not see an end to it."

At the last sentence, the golden warrior went to one knee before him. His voice was quiet as he spoke; tents were notoriously thin and he was viciously protective of Elrond's privacy. "I did not come with any request, my lord."

But Elrond knew they were there, awaiting his attention. Círdan was arranging to have Gil-galad's remains (his mind skittered away from the details) returned to Lindon for a proper ceremony, and had endless questions for Elrond, who wanted to deal with none of them. Head still down, Elrond leaned his forearms on his thighs. "Have they lit the burial pyres again today?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Glorfindel answered, the slightest swift intake of a breath. "The men have, yes."

He sighed, knowing that what was not said was that someone was likely waiting for his approval. Elrond looked up, and met Glorfindel's gaze. "And what of our dead?"

The tensing at the corner of the blue eyes was slight but it was an indication of distaste. Glorfindel had long ago learned not to show his own opinions in front of a commanding officer.

Or a king.

"Elrond...it is not our way." He blinked at the snort of derision.

"Is it then our way to allow bodies to bloat and rot, inviting disease and vermin? In this heat, they will not last long and then we will be dealing with more than a dead shell. We will have bodies bursting, and internal fluids and intestines-"

"I will tell them to begin burning the bodies."

Elrond almost laughed at the distaste on his friend's face, but stopped the unkind thought. When had he become so embittered that he mocked another being? "I am sorry, my friend." He straightened, grimacing at the pain in his back as he did so. A lucky strike by an Orc right before he'd killed it.

That was where his anger belonged. In battle.

The battle was over.

He still had so much anger.

But not against his friend. He sighed. "I want to go home."

A childish sounding wish, but his spirit resonated with the longing, and a wry smile graced his mouth when he saw it echoed in the eyes of his friend. "You as well."

"Of course." Glorfindel nodded. "Thranduil is already gone, and Círdan is planning on leading his forces and Gil-galad's back in the next day or two."

Elrond nodded and felt the obligation of duty fall upon his shoulders. "Isildur will go to Gondor." Someone had to remain to oversee the disposal of the bodies. They could not be left to the sun and elements. "If you wish to travel with Círdan you have my leave."

Golden brows drew together over darkening blue eyes. "And leave you here."

"I _am_ capable."

Spoken mildly, it nevertheless brought Glorfindel's chin up. This was an old argument, one neither would likely ever win. "Why don't _you_ go to Lindon and I will remain to oversee the breaking of camp and disposal of bodies."

Here was one who would not treat him as a soul ready to break apart, though he certainly had felt like it in the past few days. Elrond grimaced. "And be trapped again in a conversation with Círdan and Celeborn about who is to take the mantle of High King?"

"You told them no."

"I did." Elrond's smile was not quite grim but it was a near thing. "Quite rudely at one point."

Now a smile graced Glorfindel's face, lighting his eyes, and he nodded. "Good for you."

"Don't encourage me, old friend." Elrond rubbed the back of his neck. "We must be there for the burial."

Another hesitation, and Glorfindel looked at Elrond with apologetic understanding. "Círdan wishes to send his body to Aman."

"What?" Was the world gone mad? Elrond threw himself back on his cot and huffed. "And what does he think that will accomplish? I sincerely doubt even Lórien himself could heal Ereinion now."

Curbing the smile at the sarcastic bite in what was usually an even voice, Glorfindel shook his head. "He did not take me into his council."

"Madness." Elrond turned his head. "Are you certain he said Aman?" Círdan's accent, usually not overly noticeable, became thicker when he was angry or upset. "It would make more sense to me if he was going to commit the body to the sea."

Glorfindel blinked once and stilled as he cast his mind back to the conversation. He cocked his head, considering. "It is possible I misheard." Even after all this time, his mind was more familiar with ancient accents, now mostly long dead and rarely spoken.

"Find out for me, will you?" Elrond felt sleep tugging at his mind, trying to pull him down with weight that made his body feel filled with sand. "We will go to a burial at sea." He yawned, struggling to keep his eyes open. "And then home."

The last words were slurred as Elrond finally succumbed to sleep.

Glorfindel stood and covered his friend with a blanket before exiting the tent. Home. He could almost see and smell the waterfalls, hear the blessed sound of the water roaring over the rocks. It made for a much better image than that of elven bodies piled for burning. Steeling himself, he stood before the bodies and reminded himself they were empty shells; the spirits had fled and were likely now in the keeping of Námo.

He took the torch offered him and, hand to his heart, head bowed, spoke a prayer often said on battlefields, commending the spirits to gentle rest and healing.

Eyes blurring with memories and sorrow, Glorfindel tossed his torch on the bodies, and watched as others around the ring did the same, before stepping back, a prayer on his lips. "Elentári, Star-kindler and Manwë Súlimo, send mercy and speed our way home."

* * *

 _ **In another Age, another pair of brothers, this time of blood...**_

"Because I don't want to."

"Oh, well...that just settles everything."

Mirror images, alike in nearly every way possible, the two elves glared at one another across a fire. They had shared a womb, and it was possible they shared a soul, but they did not share every opinion.

"Don't be a sarcastic orc turd, Elrohir." Elladan kicked a log in the fire and shrugged as it fell into the coals, sending up a cloud of sparks and smoke that sent his brother up and away, coughing and waving his hands, eyes watering.

Ignoring the jibe, Elrohir, composed again, turned, and crossed his arms. "What would you have us do? Remain out here all winter? We'll freeze!"

"Our ancestors did not freeze crossing the Helcaraxë."

"Our ancestors were elves of Aman who had no human blood in their veins!"

"No Maiar blood either."

"Fine." Elrohir sat again and watched the fire to see if the log would catch or continue to send billows of smoke at him. "When your toes freeze off you can sing them back on, all right?"

Elladan snorted and was silent for a while. "Finrod sang songs of power and he had no Maiar blood."

Rolling his eyes, Elrohir tugged his cloak tighter. "You do recall how that particular story ends, right? Werewolves. Finrod dead."

"I remember."

The surly tone of voice just brought a smirk to Elrohir's mouth. His gaze rose to his brother and he studied him for a long while. With a sigh, he relented. "All right. At least tell me _why_ I'm going to freeze my butt off all winter rather than lounging in the Hall of Fire enjoying mulled wine and the company of beautiful ladies."

Elladan scrunched down more, and the surly look became the grim one that more often graced his face those days. "I can't go home yet."

This again.

Still.

"I miss her as well."

"It's not just that!"

Blinking at the vehemence in his brother's voice, Elrohir drew in a deep breath before answering. "All right. What is it?"

Elladan twitched once and then again. "SHE is there."

Though many females who could be called 'she' came to mind, Elrohir could match none of them with anything that had overtly annoyed his brother. "Arwen?"

The look leveled on Elrohir should have made him burst into flames. Instead the cheeky buzzard just grinned. " _Why_ would I want to avoid Arwen?"

"Mm." Elrohir tried to hide his grin, and curled his toes inside his boots. This had been a favorite game of his as a child. Pull Information Out Of Elladan by asking the most inane questions possible until he was so annoyed he forgot he didn't want to share whatever was festering in his over-analytical mind. "Lindir make up another song about-"

"NO!"

Swiftly defensive and the way Elladan scrunched even lower told Elrohir he was getting warm. "Hmm..." He pretended to have to think hard, earning another annoyed look. "Did Gofi promise to put you on Dúnadan heir watch again? I know you would rather pretend they don't exist. Especially when they're at that pesky stage where they want to follow us around and know every, little, blessed detail of 'why did you do that, Elrohir? Why did Elladan say that? Is he mad? Is he-'"

Another snort. "Glorfindel knew better than to set Arahad after me."

"True." Elrohir rubbed at his ear. "But I meant Arahad the second, and he _did_ ask a lot of questions."

"And Glorf..." Understanding dawned and Elladan pitched a pinecone at his brother. "You?"

Easily deflecting it back at Elladan, Elrohir chuckled. "Arahad was forever confused on which of us was which."

"He was confused, period." Tossing the pinecone in the fire where it set to burning merrily, he eyed his brother. "Why are you so eager to go home?"

"I prefer my toes and fingers attached and not black with frostbite." Wiggling said fingers, Elrohir offered a cheeky grin. "The ladies like that too, you know. Especially if you clean the grime under your fingernails and-"

" _Enough_." Pinching the bridge of his nose, and making a mental note to pay back his pesty brother, Elladan blew out a long breath. "She came in Arwen's entourage from Lothlórien."

"Ooohoo..." Elrohir rubbed his hands together. "This is getting good." He leaned forward. "What else?"

"What do you mean what else?"

Elrohir dropped from the log to the ground and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, wiggling his toes. "Well, from the way you're attempting to keep me from knowing, I have to assume that there is something amiss with this maiden." He paused and widened his eyes. "She is a maiden, yes?"

"Elrohir," his brother growled. "Your sense of humor is as warped as a warg's-"

"Right. Is she cross-eyed? Toothless? Oh!" He dropped his foot to the ground to lean forward. "Her hair is not so glorious!" The last word was followed quickly by, "OOof!" as he was tackled and pinned against the log by an irate twin. "Did I guess right?"

"You're an idiot!"

Elrohir grinned. "We're identical twins."

It was difficult to maintain a temper in the face of fearless cheerfulness. Elladan knew from years of trying. He made a disgusted noise and looked at his brother. "I think you were stuck too long in the birth canal."

Elrohir grimaced. "You were born only several minutes before me."

"And look what a difference it made." He stood and grinned, offering his brother a hand up. Pulling Elrohir to his feet, still bare, Elladan patted his face and laughed when his hand was struck aside. "Don't be jealous, Elrohir..."

Elrohir scoffed. "Stop trying to lead me away from the subject." He frowned as Elladan looked away and gripped his shoulder. " _Adi_. Does she feel the same way?"

Still looking away, Elladan shook his head slowly. "I don't believe she does."

"Is she stupid?" Hands up, backing away from the sudden fire in his brother's grey eyes, Elrohir's legs hit the back of a log and he sat. "Peace, _peace_! I only mean...is there someone else? You're not exactly unpopular with the maidens in Imladris. Any one of them would be happy to be yours."

"Any but her, apparently." Elladan sat next to his brother, shoulders touching as they both looked at the fire.

"Maybe she just...hasn't known you long enough. Arwen came home just a year ago and we've been gone since spring."

"I knew the moment I saw her, Elrohir." Elladan pushed a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up over one ear. "Just like Adar with Naneth."

Elrohir nodded. They were both very familiar with the tale their parents were fond of telling... No. _Had_ been fond of telling. Now his father rarely spoke of Celebrían and the household followed his lead, respectful of their lord's unspoken wishes. For a moment the desire to be home, the home of his childhood where his mother was still beautiful and laughing, was so achingly strong that Elrohir sucked in a breath at the pain.

Elladan, fierce, protective Elladan, caught the echo of pain and put his arm around his brother's shoulders. Leaning his head against Elrohir's, Elladan sighed. "We should go home. I need to face her and see ...if it's just me who feels this way or..."

With a nod, Elrohir willed the pain of his mother's loss into the smoke that rose above the fire, floating higher and higher, towards the dark sky and the stars. "Home then. I'm glad it's there." He elbowed his brother. "Even if I have to put up with you all winter."

"That's right." Elladan reached over to put his brother's head in an armlock. "And I will never let you forget I'm older!"

* * *

 _ **And, in even later years...a pair of sisters, not of blood but by shared hardship and hard-won victories**_

"It's beautiful, Éowyn." Arwen looked around the grounds, at the gardens and at the baby toddling around, curious about everything he could touch (and try to eat). "You have a very good eye for design." She slanted a look at the fair haired woman and let the silence fall again between them. It was not as uneasy as it had been in years prior, but neither was it entirely comfortable.

"It's not home." Éowyn spoke rapidly, decisively. "Not yet."

"Give it time."

One last look to make sure the baby was not eating dirt or an unfortunate flower, and Éowyn faced her queen. "Yes? Has time made it any easier for you?"

It was almost too personal a question, and Arwen controlled the flinch. She reminded herself the Rohirrm were direct people who did not bide with lies and comfortable platitudes. How different from her own people they were! Elves did not lie, but neither did they speak directly. "A bit," Arwen admitted. _Not enough_ , her heart responded.

Éowyn made a dismissive noise and stood to walk to the toddler and pick him up. He yowled his displeasure and kicked as she removed a large bug from his hand, then sulked and sucked on two fingers when she sat again with him in her lap. "Bah!"

"No, you cannot have the bug."

"How like you he looks." Arwen tried to distract the baby, but had no luck. "He has his mother's determination as well, I see!"

"If that is a kind way to say stubbornness, then yes."

The smile was slight, but it was a smile and it encouraged Arwen to keep trying to reach out to this lonely woman. "It is very hard right now to be honest."

"Why?"

Arwen gracefully shrugged, a thing that her father would have tsk'd at; a human habit she had adopted and liked. It was an answer without answering. "My brothers are away, and ..." To her horror she choked up and felt tears make her vision swim. Still, she pushed to answer. "I miss them. I miss..." Her father. Her mother. Her grandmother and so many others. Now forever out of reach.

"You are fortunate."

Feeling a no small amount of dismay for the answer, Arwen turned to look at Éowyn.

Shaking her head, flaxen hair catching the baby's attention, Éowyn easily caught his hand and kissed it, making him laugh. "You had a home you loved. A home where you were protected and sheltered. Adored."

Oh. Arwen bowed her head under the weight of that pronouncement. "Yes. I did."

"I do not miss my childhood home." Éowyn set the baby down and nodded as one of the young girls that attended her came and walked with the toddler. "I miss my brother, though he was often away." She tilted her head, thinking. "I miss the grasslands and the way the wind would blow and make it look as if it were an ocean. I miss the horses and the spring gathers when we brought in all the foals and tamed them to hand." Her gaze was distant, and a smile had begun to curl her mouth. "I miss the rough honesty of my people and the singing in the hall at night."

Watching her, Arwen could almost see the things Éowyn was speaking about, so strong were the emotions behind them.

Hands in her lap, Éowyn dropped her gaze. "I do not miss Wormtongue and his deceit, or my uncle's illness." She raised her head and in her pale eyes there flickered a fierce light. "But I remember the good, and hold to that on the dark days." Looking around her garden, she gestured. "I come out here and see how good my life is now, and remember how much one man loves me." Smiling warmly as her baby giggled at a butterfly, Éowyn nodded. "And that one. He is my sunshine. I cannot imagine not having him in my life now."

She looked again at Arwen. "This is becoming home. The home I want and the home I make it to be. No one can make me do what I do not wish here." Éowyn nodded. "And that makes me content."

Arwen nodded and kept nodding as Éowyn reached out to take her hand. "You speak truth."

"Of course." She laughed, a light sound that brightened the garden. "Oh...here, Arwen." Handing her queen a handkerchief of light linen, Éowyn squeezed her hand. "Not all tears all evil. Gandalf said that and I have not forgotten, though I confess I hate crying."

"As do I!"

"Ah..." Éowyn shook her head. "But your eyes don't turn red and your nose doesn't get stuffy with snot."

A burbling laugh burst from Arwen at that. "No...no, they don't."

"See? That is a good thing."

Arwen nodded and drew in a deep breath. She felt lighter than she had since her brother's departures, happier than she had in a long while. "I keep telling myself to stop missing what I had and to appreciate what I have now."

The snort was little, and Éowyn met her gaze. "You cannot tell yourself to not feel something that you feel."

"No. I suppose not." Arwen shook her head. "It is a trait of my people, to look back and regret."

"Well then." Éowyn squeezed her hand once more and stood, pulling Arwen up with her. "You will have to learn a new trait or two from your new people." Standing near enough to touch shoulders, Éowyn gestured. "Look at the beauty here. Look at the baby and how careless and happy he is, how joyful. Look forward to having your own babies and think of how to make your home as _you_ wish it to be. Forget those stuffy Gondorian dames and their advice!" She faced Arwen. "You know what you want. You waited for how long because you knew what you wanted, despite what everyone said?"

Arwen nodded. "A long time." Even for an elf. "It was worth it. _Is_ worth it."

"Then you should not have any problems." Éowyn grinned.

"Perhaps if I do..." Arwen hesitated, then reminded herself to be bold. "I shall just reach out to you and you can remind me."

Eowyn nodded. "Happily."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Thank you for reading! I reply to all comments, good or bad and always love hearing what you thought._


	2. Chapter 2

_This...this. I blame Bunn. Bunn, who writes beautiful, magnificent Fëanorians and has forever colored my view of Elrond's opinion on one of them in particular. It's a companion piece to Where the Heart Is, and demanded I write it. I never planned on a second chapter!_

 _For all those who loathe seeing Elrond heartbroken and alone, because whew...I am so completely in that camp._

* * *

"Where are you going?"

It was not quite a startled turn, nor a guilty expression, he was doing nothing wrong, but Glorfindel grimaced all the same and left his hand on his horse's gleaming shoulder. Whether it was to steady the mount or himself, he did not want to consider. "I have an errand to complete."

"Oh?"

How could one eyebrow express so much? Glorfindel held himself as if he was a soldier on inspection under the steady stare. "Do you require my presence, my lord?"

"No." Elrond's mouth curled in what might be amusement or perhaps annoyance that he chose to treat as humoring one of his friends. "Well then, go and be all mysterious about your ...errand."

The weariness that had haunted him the entire journey from the battle plains of Mordor to the deep ravine of Imladris was still in the grey eyes, but the grey taint to his skin was gone. The waterfalls and peace of the valley were working their magic and Glorfindel was relieved.

But not enough.

"When do Galadriel and Celeborn plan to leave?" Turning to tighten the girths of his saddle, Glorfindel glanced at his friend and saw an odd expression cross a face he had seen angry, laughing, and too often, wistful. "Not too soon, I hope?" He hid his smile, busying himself with making sure the straps of the girth were tucked away.

"I'm not certain." Elrond walked to stand at the horse's head and stroked the shadow-dark jaw. Like most of Glorfindel's horses, this one would someday be white. It was young still, however, dapples just beginning to appear on its haunches and shoulders. He pulled the charcoal forelock free of the headstall and finger-combed it, smiling as the stallion snuffled his tunic and hair. "Celeborn said the green of the valley is a balm to his soul."

Checking the sword strapped to the saddle, and the saddleback, securely tied down, Glorfindel turned to his lord and nodded. "I imagine Galadriel is more eager to return to Lothlórien?"

Elrond gave the stallion's head one last rub before stepping back. "She suspects many of the spouses of those killed will wish to sail." He dusted his hands together, grimacing as the dark horse hair drifted to the tan tunic he was wearing.

"Yes." Glorfindel was not usually one to admit his cousin was correct, but he had been there when Oropher and Amdir had led their forces in the fateful charge that had seen so many of the Silvan Elves die. He bowed his head for a moment in memory of the losses; it had been a horrifyingly breathless moment when the Noldorin forces had realized that Oropher and Amdir were not waiting, but charging the Black Gate. The Silvan Elves, brave but less well-equipped than their Noldorin kin, had been slaughtered before Gil-galad could martial his forces to support them. "May they find peace and healing." He almost regretted the words when he saw the bitter twist of Elrond's lips. "You did all you could, Elrond. Oropher was determined to not be ruled by Gil-galad, and Amdir followed his lead."

"It is still a bitter loss." Elrond shook his head and turned away. "Thranduil will never forgive any of us."

Glorfindel kept his thoughts of the new Woodland King to himself. There was no point being angry at someone who was grieving. How many times would he have to see the madness grief could cause in the faces of his people? "He is young." He set a gloved hand on Elrond's shoulder. "But he is not stupid. He will not hold you in enmity for all time, Elrond."

"Just an age or two?" Elrond nodded, but the smile was forced. He walked to the stable doors with Glorfindel, the horse clopping along next to them. "Stars light your path, my friend. Don't be gone too long or Galadriel will suspect you of avoiding her."

A snort, and Glorfindel gathered the reins before stepping up and settling lightly in the saddle. "She knows me far too well for that, old friend." He smiled. "Look for me before Midsummer Day." Nudging the stallion into a ground-eating trot, Glorfindel set his mind on his task, and just where one might find a wandering soul.

* * *

But, of course, it took longer than he had hoped. Glorfindel knew well that his quarry would be hard to find; too long had this one wandered alone, sometimes a fugitive from those who did not understand, but more often one who kept company with regret.

It was a failing of his people that sometimes drove Glorfindel into long rants that never failed to amuse Erestor and Elrond. "Mortals at least have the sense to realize they are not perfect, and release their regret, but no...not elves. We wallow in it, drink deeply and recall each event as if it was some perfect moment to cherish."

Days turned to weeks and then to months, and still Glorfindel searched. He was driven by a bone-deep certainty that if he failed ...

No. He would not fail. He had trained with Maiar before returning to Middle-earth a second time, and had knowledge that he rarely, if ever, used. He had knowledge and strength to rival even one of the mighty First Born of Aman.

And so he travelled up the coast, making treks inland to villages and farms, then back to the sea where he took precious time to gain the trust of the wary and cautious fisher folk, who did not welcome strangers readily. He had just left one of those small communities, thankful for the hard-earned smiles in the weathered faces, as well as the direction that might lead him to his quarry.

Dusk was coloring the world a blue-grey when he rode into an area of small sand dunes where sea-grass swayed in the wind. It was a lonely stretch of coast, dotted with towering rocks where, here and there, a sturdy pine clung tenaciously to a crumbling sea stack. To his left, the sea stretched to the horizon, broken by the white-capped waves breaking endlessly upon the shore.

He stopped and breathed deeply, enjoying the cool sea air and, far off, the cries of shore birds. Far west, he knew, farther than even elvish eyes could see, was Aman. Glorfindel shook his head. "No. Actually it's not." He leaned forward to scrub his horse's neck as it blew out a long wuffle of breath. "I forget sometimes that the road has changed." The days of crossing a bridge of ice were long gone, thank Eru.

But home. Well. It was there. It would be there for a very long time.

Glorfindel picked up the reins and prepared to find a spot to set up a camp for the evening. Before he could twitch a finger, his stallion snorted and turned to look into the dark woods that marched along the margin of the beach where sand turned to rocky hills that soared above the coast. Glorfindel scanned the woods, but saw nothing.

Someone was there. He could sense them and, doubtless, they were watching him. Casting his hood back, he called, "Vandë omentaina!" His accent was ancient, the Quenya tumbling from his lips far easier than the Sindarin he usually spoke. The one he sought would easily understand. It was his cradle tongue as well. The glow of the two trees, still alive in his eyes and skin, made him appear to shimmer softly in the twilight. "Hail! I seek you in the name of Elrond Eärendilion."

"Still making yourself a tempting target, Laurefindil?" A hooded form stepped from behind a stand of pines that were gnarled and bent forward from the constant coastal winds. He held a bow, but no arrow was notched.

Glorfindel laughed, the joyous sound mingling with the constant murmur of the waves and the wind winding through the trees, rustling the branches. "Always," he agreed. One hand to his heart, he bowed as deeply as he could still sitting a saddle. "My lord, you are a difficult person to find."

"And yet you managed." Pushing the hood back, the elf shook his head. "You always were tenacious. Come on, and get out of the wind. Doubtless your horse is weary even if you are not."

Glorfindel obeyed, and followed his guide up a winding path that zig-zagged through the pines, up to an old grove of tall pines that grew straight and close together. Here the wind barely stirred, and Glorfindel saw his host had a camp of sorts, with a small, rounded structure and, to his surprise, a small fire burning merrily in the center of the structure.

"The people of a vast grassland far away east and south use these as homes. Ingenious if not elegant. " The elf gestured. "There is a stream just past that first strand of trees there, and grass grows in a small clearing. Get your horse taken care of and I'll see what I can offer in the way of a meal."

Bemused, Glorfindel unsaddled his horse and used grass to wipe it down before turning it loose to graze. "Keep watch," he told it, and rolled his eyes as it ripped into the lush grass without even a flick of an ear to show it heard him. "And don't run off."

He got an ear-flick and a tail swish. Content with the answer, Glorfindel went to wash away the grime of travel before returning to his host.

Walking around the structure, he admired the simplicity of the design before entering. His host was stirring something in a small metal pot, and looked up as Glorfindel settled cross-legged to the ground.

"I grew weary of freezing in the rain and snow." Raising his gaze, he sighed. "It's far from grand but it serves me well."

"It will ease Elrond's mind to know you are caring for yourself."

"No small talk, hmm?" A shrug, and he continued to stir the contents of the pot.

Glorfindel was content to study the elf before him, careful not to compare the current against the prince he had known of, and, upon rare occasions, socialized with.

"You'll have to make do with a wooden bowl." Measuring a portion of the soup into the bowl, the elf passed it to his guest. "I don't have access to a forge or kiln these days."

"You never loved the forge work." Glorfindel blew on the soup and took a sip. Something vaguely root'ish, with a bit of what he thought was rabbit meat.

"I preferred other pursuits." Grey eyes reflecting the glow of the fire, the elf watched his guest. "I still marvel that you look no different than you did before..."

Looking up, Glorfindel held the other's gaze. "Before dying? Ah, but I am."

"Aren't we all."

Finishing the soup, Glorfindel handed the wooden bowl back and waited patiently while his host ate the remainder of the soup before setting the bowl aside. "I half-expected you to join us in Mordor."

The soft snort as he added a log to the fire said what he thought of that. "To be welcomed by Ereinion Gil-galad? Or Círdan?" His head shake sent dark hair slithering over his shoulders. "No." His gaze darkened. "I am sorry to hear about Ereinion's death."

Glorfindel bowed his head. He had not always agreed with Gil-galad, and had made it plain from the moment of his return that he was not back from death solely to save one kingdom, but the king's demise had been too near his own memories of fire and shadow. The pain of being burned alive was impossible to forget, even after healing in Aman. Glorfindel raised his head to meet his host's gaze. "They wanted Elrond to be High King."

The full lips twisted in a wry grin. "My niece did not put herself forward first?"

"No." Glorfindel had almost been surprised as well, Galadriel's aspirations for a kingdom of her own was no secret to those who had known her since the exiling of the Noldor, but he realized she had found her home in the Golden Wood and was content.

So far.

"Hm."

The fire crackled and the tent shifted, creaking as a slight wind fluttered the blankets across the entrance. "Maglor." Glorfindel spoke the name quietly, with respect for the elf he had known in Aman, and for the affection his lord held for him. Still, the other elf startled slightly, and shifted. "Will you not come with me to Elrond's valley? He would welcome you. You know this."

"I know that he is not the only elf in that valley, and not all those who dwell there wish to see my face in their home."

"He is the lord of Imladris." Glorfindel shook his head slowly. "None will speak against him."

The snort was loud this time. "So we thought once, and we were wrong." Maglor stood to pace the round confines. "He should not have to defend himself to anyone."

Glorfindel inclined his head. "I agree." He looked up to catch Maglor's reluctant gaze. "Nor should he be left bereft of one he sees as a father." He shook his head. "Not now, when the decisions of the war and the consequences weight heavy on his heart. You know how he is; he cannot help but feel the weight of those suffering."

"Laure..." Maglor rubbed his face and paced away. "I will only add to that."

"No." There was no doubt in his voice. "Maglor. I am his friend, and will be by his side so long as he walks Middle-earth." Glorfindel sighed. "But I am not family. I cannot be the brother he misses still, or his absent parents. I cannot be the one who taught him to use a sword, or play a harp or use his voice as a weapon." He nodded. "Or a means to heal. Elrond is powerful and wise, but there is a part of him that will always, _always_ long for what was taken from him." Glorfindel held out his hands. "It is part of what makes him Elrond, that steadfast nature that looks out for others."

Maglor stopped and pointed. "That is _your_ role. You were sent back to watch over him, were you not? Or so I heard in Lindon when you first surprised everyone with doing what no other had done before."

"Think you that he is so fickle that I could replace you in his affections?" Glorfindel stood and frowned. "You know him better than that." He bowed. "I leave at sunrise to return to Imladris."

"Stars light your path." Maglor turned away, back rigid, shoulders tense.

Returning to his horse, Glorfindel spread his cloak on the ground and sprawled on it, sword at his side. What had he expected? Certainly not that it would be easy, but he had counted on Maglor's affection for his foster son to override whatever real or unfounded problems held him back. Yes, it was a delicate situation, and emotions ran high, with so many dead or wounded and old memories stirred.

Glorfindel looked up to the stars and laced his hands behind his head. "Perhaps you could find a way to enlighten me as what to do now?" He listened h0pefully to the sound of the water where he knew Ulmo's power rested, but heard only the music of water rushing to the sea, carrying with it the stories of a hundred small rivers and the people who lived on their banks.

He had done what he could. Finding Maglor had taken longer than he thought and he had a promise to keep.

In the morning he would leave, with or without Maglor Fëanorian.

* * *

He could not say he was surprised; Maglor and his belongings were gone when Glorfindel led his horse to the tent to say farewell. He scanned the dense pines, but knew it was futile. Stepping up into the saddle, he steadied the horse who smelled the sea and was eager to be off. "I will give Elrond your regards, Maglor." Turning the horse in a circle, he added, "And I will keep a watch for your arrival." He grinned. "Have no fear of being turned into a pincushion. The guard is well-trained." He set his horse for the winding path back to the sea and did not look back.

Maglor, watching him ride away, shook his head. "Well-trained indeed. Laure always was a cheeky brat." He turned and decided nothing would do but a wander up to the cliffs. He had a lot to think about.

Elrond himself was out front when Glorfindel finally made his way down the mountain path to the valley floor to politely ask, "Did you complete your errand?"

Elrond had a way of asking something in a polite tone of voice that had a bite to it and Glorfindel grinned as he swung down from his horse. "I did, thank you. And, I made it back before Midsummer Day as promised."

"Indeed."

To Glorfindel's relief, Elrond looked less weary, though he still stood as though a great weight rested on his shoulders. And it did. Oh, Elrond thought he didn't know about the ring, but it was hard to keep a Ring of Power secret from one who had died and saw deeper than most. The ring, Vilya, he guessed, the most powerful of the Three. It did not please Glorfindel. He knew the rings were dangerous; it was because of Sauron and the Rings that he had been sent back, to strengthen and support those who sought to hold back the Darkness that wanted to devour everything good and gentle.

Still. It was done. Elrond would wield Vilya only for the good, Glorfindel believed that with all his heart.

But he feared what would happen should Sauron ever find the One Ring.

And what he might be called upon to do.

Pushing aside his troubling thoughts, Glorfindel handed the reins of his horse to a stable hand and walked with Elrond into the house. "I had hoped for another outcome, to be honest."

"You're still not going to tell me what this errand was, hmm?" Elrond led the way to his study. "I hope you at least can inform me about what you encountered on the way."

Glorfindel mentally sighed in relief and nodded. "Of course." He began to recount the villages and towns he had visited, but when they entered the study he stopped in the doorway. "I-"

"You ride slower than a Vanyar prince with an entourage and fifty baggage wagons."

Staring for a moment, Glorfindel suddenly laughed. "You sneaky son of Fëanor!"

"I still have a few tricks you likely don't know." Maglor inclined his head, but the smile was genuine.

Elrond stepped between them, and arched his eyebrow. "Am I right in thinking this was the 'errand' you went on, Glorfindel?"

Unrepentant, he spread his hands. "Indeed."

"He kept his word, Elrond." Maglor sat in a velvet armchair looking vaguely out of place, and still a bit like a wild animal ready to bolt, but he offered a quiet smile. "And the guard did not shoot at me."

"A word, if you will." Elrond took Glorfindel's arm and looked at Maglor. "If you will excuse us a moment?"

Maglor leaned back in the chair and picked up a book resting on the table. "I will be here."

Glorfindel couldn't read Elrond's expression but when he stopped and entered Erestor's office, currently empty of Erestor, he followed, wondering if he was in for one of Elrond's rare shows of temper.

Stopping at the window, Elrond kept his back to Glorfindel. "You sought out Maglor. You brought him here, where, in case you forgot, we do have a small number of Silvan Elves."

"I did, yes, but I did not forget the Silvan or the Sindarin Elves." Walking to where he could see Elrond's face, Glorfindel stopped and came no closer.

Elrond nodded. "Without my authority."

"Yes." Glorfindel crossed his arms and prepared to get stubborn if necessary.

The smile that broke across Elrond's face was like a radiant summer morning. "Then I shall forgive you this one time." Laughing quietly, he stepped forward to embrace his friend. When he stepped back, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Thank you, old friend. I don't know how you did it, but thank you."

Glorfindel smiled. "He wanted to see you, you know. Even if he won't admit it. He stays away-"

"I know." Elrond sighed. "And I do see his point, but I cannot regret his presence at this time."

"Is Galadriel gone?"

"Oh yes." Elrond walked to the window. "There is much to do and Celeborn agreed it was best to return." He turned, and for a moment looked young and vulnerable, as uncertain as Glorfindel had rarely seen him. "Celebrían went with them. Of course," he added quickly.

Ahh...Celebrían. Glorfindel nodded and hoped he wasn't beaming his joy. The war had no diminished the affection the two had for one another. "She will return."

A quick nod, and Elrond walked to the door. He turned. "Glorfindel."

"Elrond?"

"Thank you. Truly."

He was gone before Glorfindel could answer, but walked towards his rooms with a great smile that radiated his happiness. A bath was in order, and, stars, his hair was a mess! But perhaps, if someone asked nicely, they might be treated to a very rare song or two tonight in the Hall of Fire.

* * *

 _Oh...so yeah. That might be really cheesy and awful but it also almost_ _ **chewed**_ _its way out of my fingers to get written. Thank you for reading!_


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